


Out of Reach

by xantissa



Series: Sins and Desires [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-06 12:36:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/418995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xantissa/pseuds/xantissa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bobby always watched John’s younger boy. Because there was always something special about him. Something beautiful and seductive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Reach

Bobby finishes putting the dishes away. John and Dean are in the house, buried deep in his books, researching, trying to find the clues to help them in their hunt.

It isn’t Bobby’s hunt. So he stays out of it. His relationship with John isn’t really that good anymore. Good enough to not refuse him the use of his books, but not good enough to want to spend some time with him. Awkward. Sad. But that’s his life these days. Too much of one, too little of something else.

He looks out though the half open window towards his cluttered back yard. It’s a hot summer day, the sun beating down on the twisted metal and old forgotten cars, warming them.

Sam, John’s younger boy was out there. He refused to help with the research. Barely even spoke to anyone. Just took Dean’s walkman and walked out. No fighting about. Nothing but silence. 

Bobby wonders if John realizes that he’s losing his son. That the boy is slipping away with each day, each hour that passes.

Probably not. But it isn’t Bobby’s place to point it out. If John doesn’t see it, he’s just going to have to deal with the consequences. 

Putting the last glass on the dryer Bobby dries his hands on the kitchen rag and goes outside. The glare of sunlight is like a blow, he has to stop and blink to get used to the harsh light. It’s unforgiving but good, and he can feel the warmth of the sunrays already seeping into his skin.

Me moves his way round the house, towards the back yard that because a junkyard some years ago. He’s quiet, the messy place as familiar to him as his own pocket. 

Butch raised his head when he approaches and waggles his tail, but doesn’t bark. He’s trained that way. It wouldn’t do it your own dog betrayed your position.

He passes what’s left of an old semi a hunter brought here years ago for hiding, and never came back to pick up. He can see Sam now. He’s sitting on the ancient Chevy’s hood, long legs bent and resting on the completely rusted through bumper. The mask is dusty and dirty, but the boy doesn’t seem to care. His torso is all stretched out on the mask, one arm under his head, the other hand resting lazily on his stomach, the gray tee riding up a little, exposing the flat, already well muscled stomach.

Training he supposes. John wouldn’t let his boys run around unprepared.

The boy has his eyes closed, face turned towards the sun, the walkman lying beside him, turned off probably. He seems to enjoy the quiet much more than his brother or John. He’s so different from his family, and yet so alike, it’s almost painful to watch. He’s sixteen now. All long legs and body that hints about his future size. He’s going to be a big man one day.

Bobby always watched John’s younger boy. Because there was always something special about him. Something beautiful and seductive. 

So he stops his approach, half hidden by the wreck, and watches. Stares as Sam’s hand reaches slowly under the waistband of his jeans, his eye still closed and face turned towards the sun. He watches the soft, silky but too long hair fall in a soft, light brown halo against the dirty metal of the old car. Watches the sun send sparks of gold and red through that hair and sees the sheer sensuality of the boy.

His body is still a little too thin, his arms and legs just a tad too long in comparison to the rest of his body. But there is also a trace, a hint, of the sexual creature he is becoming. Now, when he’s alone, relaxed and lazy in the heat of the summer sun, the boy is perfectly in tune with his body.

Bobby watches him, as he pushes the wandering hand deeper under the loose jeans and palms the already visible bulge there. Bobby sees the way the boy’s lips part, thin and pink, and shiny with spit. Watches as the fast, agile tongue darts out to moisten the alluring lips. Watches the obvious pleasure Sam feels.  
His head lolls to the side, hair falling over his face, covering his ear, a few brown strands falling over his cheek and forehead.

Sam opens his eyes. Dark and lazy, the green catching the light like emeralds. His eyes find Bobby with a kind of accuracy that tell him the boy knows about him watching. Maybe it’s a sound Bobby made. Or it’s instinct. It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s caught. He wants to apologize, to step out of the shadows and say something but the expression in the boy’s eyes stops him.

Sam’s eyes crinkle at the corners. Not just a smile, but not a grin either. Somewhere in between. His eyes look luminescent and lazy, amused somehow. It reminds Bobby of the cat that visits the cabin once in a while, always looking pleased with itself and demanding food like it owned the place, owned Bobby. Because it damn well knew, it was so pretty Bobby just couldn’t refuse.

There’s something of that cat in Sam now. John’s youngest son has the same kind of lazy sensuality, the same kind of soft, can’t resist touching him appeal. Not the flashy, I’m so gonna fuck you, aura Dean exuded, but a softer one. A hidden kind that oozed out Sam when he was like this, easy and relaxed. Safe.

His eyes stay glued to the cat-like green gaze of the young Winchester but it doesn’t stop him from seeing the nimble fingers popping the buttons of his fly. One after another, until the already loose denim sags even more. A hint of white underwear, blinding in the sun.

Something hot and wild coils low in Bobby’s belly; filling his groin with an ache and need he wasn’t supposed to feel towards a sixteen year old. Never taking his eyes from the boy stretched out on the old car, Bobby presses the heel of his hand into the growing bulge in his pants.

Bobby watches as that long fingered, pale hand snakes under the white elastic. Watches as Sam bites down on his lower lip, white, small teeth painting bruises on the vulnerable flesh. The boy’s eyelids flutter down and his head turns, neck arching, a long column of flesh that begs to be bitten, marked, licked.

Sam’s eyes open and focus on him again.

There no shame in him. No hesitation. Bobby watches, aware that he is being watched in turn, as Sam pushes his jeans and underwear lower. The muscles in his arms flex, the biceps strain and then, finally the cloth gives up. Jeans and underwear push halfway down his thighs. It actually takes Bobby a moment to realize what’s different. His eyes are glued to the slender cock, jutting proudly up, the head already slick and glistening. 

His eyes wander lower, over the long shaft to the place where curly hair should be. There is none. His mind actually takes time to process this fact. The realization that Sam is actually shaved down there is like a blow straight to the balls. His cock pulses, hard and heavy, almost painfully, with the need for release. But it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters right then and there, on this sunny Sunday morning is to watch Sam. Watch the beautiful, young boy as he slowly closes his fist around himself and strokes. To watch as his head tilts back, eyes closed and his long, beautiful throat work as he swallows his moans.

It’s dangerous, this thing they’re doing. John is just a few feet away, in the house. He could come out any moment. And Bobby doesn’t need to wonder what John would do. He knows. John would kill him if he saw him now. With Sam. Watching him, getting aroused by his youngest son. 

Sam is playing a game, what, Bobby doesn’t quite know. But it’s a risk, a danger that he takes nonetheless. Because he just can’t look back from Sam now. Can’t turn away even if his life depended on it. Those green eyes, all lazy and sensual, cast a spell on him, hold him captive while he watches. He’s so close he can see him clearly, see every nuance on his face, and see the flutter of his lashes every time his thumb passes over the sensitive, flushed head. So close he can smell the sweat and sweetness that is Sam. Something young and fresh and so very, very intoxicating. So close, he can almost, almost, touch.

He watches, mesmerized as Sam’s fist passes lazily up and down on his cock, watches the way his stomach tenses and releases, the way his legs seem to fall a little bit further apart. In pleasure or in want, he’s not sure. He doesn’t know how much of what he’s seeing is planned, is designed for him. He doesn’t care. Only the sight in front of him, only the boy and the breathy sounds he’s making matter. 

It doesn’t take long. Or maybe it takes ages before there’s a change in the boys breathing. A change of pace for the hand that pleasures him. Bobby watches, with his breath held as Sam approaches orgasm, feeling as if it is his own release he’s thriving for. He watches as the hand starts going faster and faster, until it’s a blur. Watches as the boy arches his chest off the car, his eyes squeezed tightly shut and watches as Sam’s come, white and ropey, shoots out of his cock, spilling over the boys hand, pooling over his stomach.

When Sam falls back down on the car, his body incredibly loose and relaxed, he opens his eyes and looks at Bobby. He makes no move to cover himself, to clean up. He just lies there, bared in the sun, relaxed and sated with that something mysterious in his eyes. Something both terrifying and inviting. Something soft and sensual.

There are no words, no gestures made between them. But after a moment Bobby realizes that he is much, much closer to Sam than he intended to be. That he is by Sam’s side, his knees touching the side of the car Sam is lying on.  
So close. But so forbidden at the same time. But Bobby isn’t an innocent person. He stopped being one a long, long time ago. There’s no fight in him now. This young man, a boy really, without one word has managed to crumble all his defenses and made him feel things that were both wrong and so, so sweet. He gives in to the desire, into the promise of forbidden fruit. Wanting to taste it before it’s taken away. 

He reaches, tentatively for the pale patch of skin visible on the thigh, above the bunched up jeans and underwear. His eyes are glued to the soft, young cock lying flushed in a small pool of come. Soft and relaxed now. But he doesn’t dare touch it, not yet. His eyes skim over the shaved area, where the hair should be. The implication of this fact, the sheer wrongness, hotness, of it is mind blowing.

The callused pads of his fingers drags roughly over the satin smooth skin of Sam’s thigh, higher through the sharp, jutting hipbone and up to the smooth place, paler than the rest of his skin, where his hair was shaved.

Jesus.

Sam shudders as the calluses catch and drag at the sensitive skin and Bobby shudders with him, so focused on his young body, so awed by being allowed to see it, touch it he’s not even aware of his own needs.

Instead, Bobby is aware, the whole time, of the green eyes, slanted against the glare of sunshine, watching him, regarding him with a kind of thoughtful amusement. It isn’t mean, there isn’t a mean bone in the youngest Winchester’s body, but its different, beyond what Bobby knows and understands. He feels out of his depth; all the years of experience, what his life taught him, it never really stood a chance against the sheer power that was Samuel Winchester.

Licking his dry lips, Bobby finally gathers his courage. His hands drift lower, towards the softly resting cock. His fingers meet the warm, already drying, puddle of come on Sam’s flat belly. He can still smell it. Pungent, salty and earthy. Before he realizes what he’s doing, he raises his fingers towards his mouth and licks at them, adding taste to the sense of smell that had brought him so far already.

Sam licks his lips, but doesn’t say a word, his green eyes focused on that hand, those fingers Bobby uses to taste his essence.

So deep under the spell that there’s not one rational thought in his mind, Bobby lowers his hand. The rough, work callused fingers touch the lax member resting softly on Sam’s groin, the head pointing towards the flat belly. It was warm, the sun warming it, and soft. So incredibly soft and silky. Smooth skin, so vulnerable and beautiful. The calluses catch at the wrinkles in the skin, pulling and Sam hisses. He’s still oversensitive probably. But it doesn’t matter. The hiss doesn’t sound painful. 

His hand closes over the soft member and something wild and forbidden rushes though him, setting his blood on fire and making his groin even heavier. 

“Hey Sammy! Where are you, dude!” Dean yells at the top of his lungs.

Bobby jerks his hand away like he’s burned. The reality of what he did, what he let himself feel, crashes into him like a semi. 

He looks up at Sam but there’s no panic, no guilt on his face.

All Bobby can do is watch his green eyes slit, the corners curl up. Sam looks at Bobby, a little amused, a lot pleased, and slides off the car in one fluid movement. Bobby watches him straighten out his clothes and then walk towards the house, all long limbed grace and sensuality.

The older man presses his groin against the side of the old car, seeking pleasure, seeking pain, because it’s so wrong, so fucked up to want this cat-like creature, and he comes, semen spilling inside his underwear.

He stays like that for a long time, hands flat on the old metal, head bent, the sun warming his shoulders and the nape of his neck. His nostrils are still filled with the scent of semen and young sweat, and the memory of green eyes fill his mind.

 

The end.


End file.
